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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001388">Fly on the Wall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderAvian/pseuds/WonderAvian'>WonderAvian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thunderbirds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:42:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>322</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderAvian/pseuds/WonderAvian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>We all go a little mad sometimes.<br/>Originally posted on tumblr January 15th 2017.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fly on the Wall</h2></a>
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    <p>The art room was silent.</p><p>Virgil sat on one of the sofas, his head back, staring at ceiling. Gordon lay horizontally across him, so his head was on one end of the couch and his legs dangled across the other. There had been no rescues that required either of them for two days, and they were both very bored.</p><p>“Time passes slowly on a weekend,” Virgil stated eventually.</p><p>Gordon made no comment, just turned his head to the side to ease the ache in his neck.</p><p>“A fly crawls up the wall,” Virgil continued, gaze locked onto the insect that was indeed casually crawling up the wall, just an inch away from the corner that separated the wall and the ceiling.</p><p>“One of those iridescent flies of fall.”</p><p>Gordon turned his head back and opened one eye, searching for the fly. Finding it, he blinked twice before shutting his eyes again.</p><p>“Its like its speaking to me, but it can’t be heard because its voice is so small.”</p><p>Gordon snorted quietly at that one, rolling his eyes behind closed eyelids.</p><p>“Time passes slowly on a weekend.”</p><p>Gordon waited quietly to make sure Virgil was done making poetry before saying, “That’s my Virgil. You’ve raised boredom to an art form.”</p><p>Virgil chuckled softly.</p><p>“Well, it’s not like I can move. I’ve lost all feelings in my legs, thank you very much.”</p><p>Gordon snarked, “What, is the shorty too much for the mighty artist’s poor strong legs?”</p><p>Virgil sat up suddenly, and Gordon gave a startled yelp as he fell forward onto the floor. Virgil smiled as he walked stiffly over to his desk and sat down, opening his drawers to look for something to sketch with.</p><p>“When my bones knit you are a dead man,” Gordon called from where he lay face down on the hard wooden floor.</p><p>“You just keep telling yourself that,” Virgil said smugly, and flicked some paint at Gordon.</p>
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